


The Practice Mage

by SarcasmFish (Alcyonidae)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Comfort/Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 20:05:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6391453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alcyonidae/pseuds/SarcasmFish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Templar stepped away from her, moving the requisite number of paces to ready the fight. She drew in a deep, steadying breath. It was time. There was no way to delay. She swept the staff in front of her, testing her connection to the Fade, drawing on its strength and power. The Templar pulled his shield from his back and readied it in front of himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Practice Mage

Her hands gripped the staff tighter. They shook. They always shook. The First Enchanter was talking, voice low and reverent, reminding her that as Chantry property she was fulfilling an honorable role that would keep their Templars sharp and at the ready.

She wasn’t listening. Slippered feet shuffled in the plush dirt filling the tiny arena. It clung to them, dirtying and staining the edges. It was a distant distraction. They were only ever soiled when she was here.

Her eyes were drawn up to the closed doors in the wall below where the First Enchanter stood. She held her breath a moment at the screech of metal. A Templar pushed his way through, clad in full armor that seemed to shine and glow even in the low light. The winged helmet hid his face. She watched him approach, willing her feet to remain in place and not flee, and wondered at this man that would be her opponent. What kind of person would he be? Would he be the type that would attempt to hold back his attack, offer his hand to help her from the ground after she inevitably fell? Or would he be like the ones that relished the release of their full abilities, that beat into her their frustrations?

He took his place beside her, bowing to his assembled brothers and sisters gathered above them to observe. The Knight-Commander was talking now, loud and grave, reminding them of the rules, elemental spells only, no swords, no smites or silences. Blood would end the match. She wasn’t listening.

There were windows far above them, tiny slits that offered only a sliver of blue. This was one of the few places in the tower that offered such luxury views. She squinted and stared, attempting to memorize the color, to recall it later in darker hours, to compare it to the everyday things in her mundane life so that it would not be forgotten.

The Templar stepped away from her, moving the requisite number of paces to ready the fight. She drew in a deep, steadying breath. It was time. There was no way to delay. She swept the staff in front of her, testing her connection to the Fade, drawing on its strength and power. The Templar pulled his shield from his back and readied it in front of himself.

She began with volleys of fire and ice, directing the attacks towards the open sides of his shield. He corrected the angle immediately, deflecting the elements with little effort while taking measured steps towards her. She needed to stay at range. The match would end quickly if he closed in on her. They would add another round or call in another to test their skills. And she had not yet determined what sort of adversary this man would be. If he proved to be brutal, it would be best to wear him out before he could lay hands upon her.

She spun the staff in an arc before her, lifting a few chunks of earth and sent them sailing towards the knight. He took the attack with his shield again, bracing himself behind it safely, but costing him ground. The slabs knocked into the metal with loud clangs, pushing him back through the loose, powdered dirt. She took the opportunity to retreat, expecting him to be knocked off balance. He powered forward, driving the rocks aside with the angle of the shield.

There was a safe amount of space between them. She risked planting her feet, even as he advanced towards her. She reached deep into the Fade, using her arms and staff as if she were tangibly pulling the magic from the very ground itself. Sweat began to form on her brow, from nerves, from the physical effort it took to manipulate the magic into her will. She finally lifted her hands above her, her grip on the staff straining the hand holding it, using it to anchor herself to the corporeal world as she tore so much across the Veil.

Little sparks of fire, molten bits of rock that fell at unnatural angles, began to rain down upon the Templar. He lifted the shield above him where the slag fell upon it with rhythmic pings. She sagged a bit, waiting for him to hunker down, to protect his extremities, to wait out the storm of magic embattling him. He crouched low a moment and then rushed forward with a burst of speed, shield held at a slight tilt above his head. She was still recovering, still trying to shake off the burn in her muscles. Her mouth fell open with a gasp as he covered the distance between them in large strides. A few of the burning embers embedded themselves into his armor, some even falling and rolling into the gaps between the plates. It did not stop or slow him.

Now safe from the reach of falling fire he pulled the shield back and rammed it forward. It slammed into her side and the hand holding the staff. She cried out, staggering backwards as the shield knocked the staff free from her fingers. It flew from her grip and landed yards away, sending up a little plume of dust as it settled into the dirt. She drew in a ragged breath, pulling her ruined hand against her chest, clutching it with her good hand. She gaped at the clawed shape her fingers had taken, blood welling from places the skin had been torn and seeping down her arm. A wave of dizziness gripped her, making her cold. She glanced up at the Knight-Commander through darkening vision, waiting for him to end the match. Blood had been drawn. The man above them gazed down, stoic. No signal to withdraw was given.

She struggled to suppress a sob, the pain in her fingers overwhelming her senses, setting fire to the nerves and shooting lightening down her arm. She glanced at her opponent through a blurry film. He started forward again, forcing her to begin wheeling back, her footing now uncertain and clumsy behind the pain. Her staff had spiraled away far from her reach. She could still cast, but it would be unwieldy, unfocused, and inefficient.

With teeth grit to abide the agony, she thrust her hand out flat. Ice crackled from it, fracturing its way through the loose dirt and forming around the Templars armored feet. The magic was wild, jagged, unrefined, but did what it was intended. The man was forced to shake the chunks of ice from his boots, allowing her enough time to turn and slip through the Fade. What was usually an elegant move was now jarring and made her stumble as she stepped from the Veil, a far shorter distance than she had intended.

She bent forward, good hand on her knee, panting from the excursion and her dwindling reserve of Lyrium. Splatters of blood dripped from her elbow, coloring her robe in growing stains. She stared at it a moment, transfixed by the idea, the image, the sensation. She could not last much longer. Her thoughts were beginning to crawl and wander.

She drew up straight again, pulling on all the magic she could possibly muster and thrust it out at the enclosing Templar. It was an obvious attack, a last effort even a novice recruit could see through. He raised the shield high to protect his face as he continued forward, knowing she had little left to give. Instead of crumpling, of raising her arms to protect herself from the coming blow she found herself driving forward, adapting his tactic to her own. As he brought the shield back down, he found her only a step away. She threw the back of her elbow into his face with an inspirited yell. The metal of the helmet dug into her, sending excruciating shocks up her arm, but she was rewarded with a pained shout from within.

The Templar staggered back, casting aside his shield with little regard for where it landed and pulled the helmet from his head with a seething roar. It was the first she had ever seen of him. He had short, shaggy brown hair and fierce eyes that were blown wide with fury. She could see his teeth, clenched behind lips that panted short puffs of air. His nose was bloodied and dripping down his chin. He spit out a bloody bit of phlegm that made her wonder if her attack might have broken several of his teeth, too.

“You stupid, mage bitch.” He growled, stalking forward, gauntleted hands bent into claws. “You shouldn’t have done that.” She stared at him, noticing the way he shook, the way the corners of his mouth twitched. She began to step back, reading the clear intent written on his features.

His wild eyes never left hers as he advanced, slowly pulling free his sword with a clear ringing of steel. Her eyes widened. They never used swords. They weren’t allowed to use swords.

There was yelling in the background now, but she couldn’t hear it, only the loud rushing fear that consumed her thoughts. She clasped her mangled hand closer and lashed out with the other again, a frantic salvo of fire with what little scraps of the Fade remained to her access. With a quick slash through the air with his hand her connection with her magic was severed. She crumpled to her knees in front of him, breath coming in short panicked gasps. She hoped she might faint and pass away painlessly from the blow of a Templars blade she did not deserve, but could not bring herself to even close her eyes.

He lifted the sword again, face contorted into a look of such disgust and hatred that it burned in her mind. It was not just her hands that shook as she stared at the blade raised above her, a weapon as soulless and callous as the eyes of the one poised to bring it down upon her.

She woke with a frightened cry, heart strained to burst in her chest. Flailing limbs failed to thrust away the covers that bound her. It was a terror of blindness. A terror that disoriented and left her grasping for anything familiar. Her hand clasped itself firmly over her eye, burning and sobbing as if newly cut. The scar beneath it seemed to pull and ache. She nearly tumbled from the bed in her frantic thrashing if not for an arm that wrapped around her waist and plucked her from the edge.

Cullen pulled her close, fitting her trembling form against his own. Soft words were mumbled against her ear as he pried away the hand clutched against her eye with tender fingers. She tucked her head in under his chin, burying herself in his strength. He gave her that place to cower, to hide. He tightened his hold around her, sheltering her with his arms. She pressed her face against his chest, breathing in his warmth with short, shuddering breaths. He pressed a kiss to her hair, gentle hands running along her back to smooth away the tremors.

In the quiet twilight, the tension eventually left. Ebbed out by careful touches and murmured assurances, leaving her pliable and spent. He tipped her chin up so he could meet her eyes, worn thumbs brushing across wet cheeks. She focused on his eyes, on the scar above his lip, on the familiarity of his face to bring herself back.

“You’re here. With me, in Skyhold.” He finally said, sure and solid. She made to speak, to whisper a thank you, an apology, an explanation, but could not manage to rally the words to her tongue. He pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose in the way that always managed to make her smile. “You’re safe.”

He had said these words countless times before, but they were the only ones she needed.

**Author's Note:**

> So when I made my character I gave her a scar over one eye just cause I thought it looked cool. And FOREVER I've had issues with trying to figure out WHERE the scar came from! Finally, after like.. nearly a year I came up with this. It solves so many issues! Where the scar came from, why she was wary of Templars, and why she could fight so well when the game began.


End file.
